Monday, March 5, 2007

Against a fall of snow, a being beautiful, and tallWhistlings of death and circles of faint musica Make this adored body, swelling and trembling Like a specter, rise...Black and scarlet gashes burst in the gleaming flesh.The true colors of life grow dark, Shimmer and separate In the scaffolding around the vision

Shiverings mutter and rise, And the furious taste of these effects is charged With deadly whistlings and raucous musicThat the world, far between us, hurls up at our mother of beauty... She retreats us, she rises up...

O ash white face

O tousled hair

O crystal arms!

On this cannon I mean to destroy myself In a swirling of trees and soft air!